you. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
Washington pushed the End button and looked at Wohl. Wohl took out his cellular and pushed an autodial number.
“Matt, is Mr. Colt with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Meet me at Liberties. Now. Do not go inside.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inspector Wohl, Lieutenant Washington, and Sergeant Payne arrived at Liberties within thirty seconds of one another.
Lieutenant Washington went inside Liberties.
Mr. Michael J. O’Hara was sitting alone at the bar.
“You better be about to tell me that Peter’s right on your heels,” O’Hara greeted him.
“Peter’s right on my heels.”
“You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“We’ve identified one of the miscreants in the Roy Rogers job, and have a good idea who the other one is.”
“I heard that much at Augie Wohl’s.”
“Mrs. Solomon is very concerned that, unless we exercise great care, the malefactors may slip through the cracks in the floor of the criminal justice system.”
“Which means what, exactly?”
“That an arrest will not be made until such time as Mrs. Solomon feels there is a stronger case than what we have now, which is identification of one of them by fingerprints. ”
Inspector Wohl went to Matt’s unmarked Crown Victoria and got in the backseat.
“Mr. Colt, I’m Inspector Wohl,” Wohl said.
Stan Colt reached over the back of the seat and enthusiastically shook Wohl’s hand.
“Hey! Great! How are you? Matt’s been telling me all about you!”
“You were seen outside the IAD warehouse, Sergeant Payne,” Wohl said. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”
“Mr. Colt wanted to see it, so I showed it to him.”
“Okay. Is there anything else Mr. Colt wants to see tonight? ”
“We’re going to D’Allesandro’s for a cheese steak,” Matt said.
“And we’d love to have you come along,” Stan Colt said.
“That’s very kind, but it’s been a long day, and what I’m going to do is have a nightcap with Lieutenant Washington and go home.”
“Tell you what, Inspector,” Colt said. “Why don’t we all go in there and have a nightcap, then Matt and I will go to D’Allesandro’s, and then we’ll all go home.”
Mr. Colt put action to his words by getting out of the car, walking quickly to the door of Liberties, motioning cheerfully for Matt and Wohl to follow him, and disappearing inside.
“Jesus Christ!” Wohl said. “Mickey’s in there, waiting for me to tell him what’s going on.”
“I saw the pressmobile,” Matt said.
“This isn’t funny, goddamn it!”
“What are you going to do?” Matt asked.
“Goddamn movie actor!”
“Actually, he’s not really such a bad sort,” Matt said. “He sort of grows on you.”
FIFTEEN
I may have had more of these than I remember,” Mickey O’Hara said, interrupting Washington, and holding up his Old Bushmills on the rocks, 'because the guy in the door looks just like Stan Colt.”
“Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” Washington agreed.
Mr. Colt, smiling, his hand extended, marched up to them.
“Hi,” he said. “You’re Matt’s boss, aren’t you? Lieutenant Washington?”
“Yes, I am,” Washington said. “And unless I err, you are Mr. Stan Colt?”
“Right!”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Colt,” Washington said, adding: “This is Mr. Michael J. O’Hara, of the Bulletin.”
“No shit!” Mr. Colt exclaimed. “You’re Mickey O’Hara? Goddamn! You’re a goddamn legend!”
He enthusiastically pumped Mickey’s hand.
“Mr. O’Hara is indeed one of our more prominent journalists, ” Washington said, as Wohl, trailed by Matt, came into the bar.
“When you and Bull Bolinski got caught running numbers for Frankie the Gut, you took the fall for him, got expelled, and the Bull got to graduate, got to be All-American… you know. The Bull told me all about you.”
“You know Casimir?” Mickey asked.
“Hell, yeah, I know the Bull. We West Catholic guys got to stick together, you know. He always stays with me when he’s on the Coast.”
“I’ll be damned,” Mickey said. “I heard you were in town, raising money for West Catholic, but I didn’t know you went there.”
“You probably wouldn’t remember me. I used to be Stanley Coleman, I was a freshman and you and the Bull were juniors when you got shit-canned, but I sure remember you.”
“I’ll be damned,” Mickey said, and now returned Mr. Colt’s enthusiastic hand-pumping.
Wohl walked up, smiling a little lamely.
“Well, I see you’ve met Mr. O’Hara, Mr. Colt,” he said.
“Met him, shit! We go way back; we both got kicked out of West Catholic. Jesus, I’m glad you brought me in here!”
“Me, too,” Mickey said.
“Hey, bartender,” Mr. Colt called, and when he had his attention, made a circling motion with his hand, which the bartender correctly interpreted to mean that he should bring liquid refreshment to one and all.
“The usual, Inspector?” the bartender asked.
Wohl nodded.
“Detective?”
“Hey, he’s a sergeant,” Mr. Colt corrected him. “Give us both one of those Irish martinis.”
“And if I don’t want an Irish martini?” Matt asked, smiling.
“Drink it anyway, you’re an outnumbered WASP,” Colt said, and then frowned, remembering. “Hey, I still don’t have any money. I’ll pay you back.”
“Sure.”
“The Bulletin will pay,” Mickey announced. “Why don’t we get a table?”
They took a table. The bartender delivered a round of drinks.
“You hang out with these guys, right, Mickey?” Mr. Colt inquired.
“Yeah. What I want to know is what you’re doing with them.”
“Matt’s showing me around the police department, and doing a goddamn good job of it.”
“For a WASP,” Mickey said, “Matty’s a pretty good cop. I owe him big time.”
“How come?”
“A couple of years back, we were in an alley, and a really bad guy comes down it shooting at us with a. 45 -”
“Jesus, Mickey!” Matt protested.
“-and Matty put him down,” O’Hara went on. “Took a bullet in the leg, but the bottom line was one dead bad
